Look Up
by Roriette
Summary: Next life time, they'll fall in love, get married, and live long enough to see each other turn old and weary with age. Until then, he can only look up.


**Rori's Corner: **This one is hm probably not exactly my happiest one. So if you're picking a playlist, go with a non-happy playlist. Personally, I kind of wrote this while listening to Jay Chou (_Zui Chang de Dian Ying/The Longest Movie_) and Tank (_Zhuan Shu Tian Shi/Private Angel_). Ahh, such tearjerking songs. *satisfied* I have a bad habit of tormenting LyoGray. No idea why. They're torment-able. Maybe.

* * *

><p>.:.<strong><em>Look Up<em>**.:.

_just give me two more minutes_

_and let me freeze this moment forever_

* * *

><p>"Gray, don't push yourself."<p>

"I'm not a kid, Lyon. Don't tell me what I can and can't do," the dark-haired teen muttered in response, crouched on the floor in the locker room and tying his shoelaces. The recently cleaned concrete contrasted starkly against his neon green sneakers. He laced the white strings together into a tight ribbon and then shifted onto his other leg.

"Gray - "

"Shut up. I'm fine."

He kept his head down, dark blue eyes focused on his sneakers. His fingers pulled and wrapped the shoelaces automatically. Routinely. The sunlight filtering in through the dusty windows of the locker room was an orange-red, like it couldn't decide between rising and setting. Outside, the whistle blew, signaling the start of the 400-meter dash.

He stood up, unzipping his navy jersey. A sleeveless black tee with the number seven showed underneath. "Don't worry about me." He sounded so confident, yet he couldn't look Lyon in the eyes. "Worry about yourself. And Sherry. There's a rumor going around that you've been going after another girl. She's threatening to kill her." He pushed the door open. In the dark confine of the locker, the afternoon sun beating down on his unaccustomed eyes was encompassing and suffocating. He squinted against the light. The blue sky from before was now a bloodied red.

The sun chose to set, didn't it?

A cold grasp on his arm stopped him from leaving. He waited, his gaze facing forward. The hand squeezed until white fingerprints engraved into his skin.

"I'll be watching you. So you don't do anything rash."

He smirked, his cobalt eyes smiling just a little. Turning his head, he looked at Lyon without really looking at him. He knew it wasn't possible for him to truly look at him. He couldn't bear the pity, the unwelcome sympathy, the empty promises, or the dim hope in those brown eyes. He had already seen enough of it to last him the remaining span of his life.

Lyon squeezed his arm again, harder and more firmly, physically conveying his thoughts.

"Stop worrying about me so much. You're acting like I'm gonna die any second," he said, jokingly. He meant it as a joke. From the downturn of Lyon's taut lips, he quickly realized too late that his childhood friend didn't take it as such. He couldn't help that. What could _he_ possibly do to make it up to him? A dead man walking, like him? He couldn't fix anything; couldn't do anything; couldn't make anyone feel better; couldn't live any longer. Not when he couldn't even help _himself_. Time was the essence that controlled existence. With time being cut short, his existence was in the very process of fading.

He shrugged off the ice hold, heading to the track field. The shadow of his figure, forced to move forward, left the speechless Lyon behind. Hadn't he already decided? That he was going to live his remaining life to the fullest; that as long as he was breathing, he was going to be happy? Didn't he make a promise to himself? No regrets. No tears. Only enjoyment. Life was short. His was just shorter. People died. He just died earlier. Every man was a dead man walking. He was just a man who realized he was dead before anyone else did.

Wasn't that promise the only way he could move forward?

He paused, just before he stepped on the dewy grass. His track coach nodded his head at him. He nodded back, a small fire burning in the centre of his body, invoking a numb something that he thought had long disappeared, ever since he found out his circumstance. His fighting spirit. His desire to live. His willpower. It was overwhelming.

He raised his fist, meeting the sunset sky halfway. If he reached higher, he could kiss the clouds. He didn't.

He still had a life left to live, didn't he? He couldn't afford to go to heaven right now.

Unclenching his fist, he freed his fingers, and then he waved just once, not to his coach, who let him take this time to prepare himself, not to his track team, who were all waiting on the track field, but to Lyon, who was behind him, watching his every move.

Gray's mouth moved, and Lyon's eyes widened in shock. The small speech over, Gray stood there, letting his words sink in, biting his lip, small dribbles of wet tears making their way down his face, before he headed into the field, clearing his emotions. He high-fived his teammates and then steadied himself on the starting line, getting into the dash position. The ember spitting in the bottom of his guts gave birth to the new determination in his cobalt eyes. It was probably something only a dying man like himself could feel. That sudden rush of adrenaline, that stubborn willpower, and that strong desire to live.

Empowered. He felt so empowered, it was ironic. Why, then, was he not strong enough to tell his best friend, Lyon Vastia, the one who was beside him all this time, the one he was constantly trying to catch up to and surmount, the one he was inseparable from since children, that he l - ...

A warm breeze swept past Lyon's unmoving stature. His albino hair, the color of the snow, the exact opposite of Gray's, fluttered, while he remained motionless. His narrow eyes were blank. The words last uttered by his childhood friend repeated like an mentally ill patient's demented ranting. He watched Gray as the brunet leaned forward, his nimble body compressed in a lunging position.

_No. No. No. No! _was all he could think. He couldn't move. Why couldn't he move? Why wouldn't his damn legs _move_?

"_Hey, Lyon. You said you were going to watch me, right? Keep watching my back, then. For just a little longer. ...Did you know? The doc told me that if I ran anymore, I would end up killing my legs and heighten the depletion of my nervous system. When that happens, I'll also fall into zone four of TB. That's some movie kind of shit, isn't it?_" He had laughed. "_So...hear me out, Lyon. This is my last selfish request. Let me run. I just want to enjoy it while I can. Thanks. And...I'm sorry I can't make up for all the times you helped me. I'm sorry for being a horrible best friend. I'm sorry for not saying this earlier. So, before I forget, I'll say it now. Thank you, thank you, and thank you, Lyon_!" And then he had left, running over to his teammates, heading into his premeditated death, without even looking back once.

No. _Stop_. Don't let him go. Don't let him run, goddamn it! _Why are you idiots letting him RUN!?_

"S-stop. Stop the race. Stop the fucking race!"

It was too late. _He_ was too late. The whistle blew. Gray dashed, just as his opponents did, at the same time. Dust puffed and scattered as their feet lunged, racing across the track field. He was gritting his teeth, determination flashing in his blue eyes, dark hair fluttering against the wind. Looking all but like a man about to embrace death.

Lyon's knees buckled, unable to hold himself up anymore. He fell down on the dirty ground, hand covering his face, his shocked eyes looking through his fingers to see the filtered bits and pieces of the mad dash. Frozen tears collected in the corner of his stunned eyes. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't -

_Gray...is this how you're planning on leaving me behind? Even though you're the most important person to me...even though you're the only one matters in this world...even though I...love...you...so...fucking...much?_

- couldn't -

A choked noise ripped from his throat. Wet droplets of salty tears ran down his face. The rims of his eyes red. He allowed Gray to run to his death...just like that?

- happen -

_Why is this happening? Why Gray? Why not me? Why do you have to do this to him? Why..._

- ...right?

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><p>"Quick, get him to the ambulance!"<p>

"We have a student who needs emergency treatment! He collapsed after the race! He's coughing blood! Hurry!"

The red neon lights of the ambulance arrived, wailing its appearance.

"Load the stretcher!"

"One, two - "

"He's still breathing!"

"Go, go, go!"

Lyon roughly pushed aside the stunned racers, sweeping past the coaches, and bolted over to the ambulance. He grabbed someone at the back of the van. "Let me see him," he rasped, his eyes wild.

The man shook his head. "I'm sorry, he needs treatment right this second. You'll have to see him la - "

He shook the caretaker violently and barked, "LET ME SEE HIM!" Warm liquid trailing his cheeks were dripping down his neck. The doors in the back of the ambulance were about to be closed. He couldn't see Gray anymore. He couldn't let that happen. He picked the man up by his collar and said again, his voice bordering maniacal, "Just give me two minutes. Just two damn minutes! Okay? Just - "

"Lyon, calm down!"

Someone pulled him away from the heckled man, dragging him to the side. "Let me go!" he screamed, struggling.

"Lyon! We'll be able to see him later! He'll be fine!"

_Don't you bastards get it?! He's NOT fine! He's about to DIE, and you're going to feed me bullshit? Why don't you fucking get it?! Why am I the only one -_

"He came in first in his race. There's no way he won't be okay after doing that."

"Why did you make him run," Lyon muttered tonelessly, voice hoarse, head bowed, as the coach's arms clutched his shoulders, keeping him immobile. "Even though you knew. Even though...you fucking _knew_," he hissed. The grey cement below him colored two drops of tears, the liquid melting into the hard surface. Those were his, weren't they. Weren't they? Why was no one else crying? Why was he the only one -

"...I'm sorry, Lyon. It's my fault. Gray told me he wanted to run for one last time. For the team. I...I couldn't...I'm sorry. It's all my fault."

Why were they all like this?

Natsu, Juvia, Lucy, Erza, - weren't they all his friends? Why didn't any of them stop him? Because of his pride? All because Gray said he wanted to run? All because of that? All because Gray was such a stubborn brat, they let him...

He wasn't any different, was he? He didn't stop him, either. He let Gray go, even though he was so close. Even though he could have stopped him. Why was no one crying but him? Why were they all turning their heads, trying not to look at him, not shedding one tear, as if they're desperately reeling in their emotions? What was the point?

_Why am I the only one - ..._

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><p>Why <em>was<em> he the only one? The only one willing to cry, at that time. He leaned on the railing, standing on the rooftop of the hospital, a cigarette inserted in between his index and middle fingers. Snow, pure white snow, was drifting, melting into his white hair, into his white coat, and disappearing into the concrete floor. The city, yellow lights and neon signs, was under him. His cold brown eyes looked down at the snow-covered city, but his gaze was empty.

He exhaled, the cigarette smoke forming a lazy 'O.'

Time had passed. _Seven years had passed._ He was now twenty-five, one of the youngest doctors working in this hospital. This hospital that once operated on Gray. He had decided to become a doctor. The reason was obvious; he wanted to do what the doctors before him couldn't do.

They couldn't save Gray.

They couldn't save him.

They couldn't save the only person he ever loved. They couldn't give him enough time to tell him. They couldn't give him just two minutes.

They couldn't even let him see him for one last time.

Why couldn't they do that?

Why was it that his last memory of Gray was his back facing him, telling him 'thank you,' and nothing else? Why was it that he couldn't even see his face one last time at his funeral? Why was he cremated instead of buried? Because he had a high level of tuberculosis? Because they couldn't let his family and friends see him for _one second_? Even after they had him undergo solitary confinement, in order to make sure his disease wouldn't contaminate society? Even after they made him die, alone, in that lonely room? _Even though he was willing to stay with him in that room, so they could be together, until death?_

He crushed the cigarette under the sole of his dress shoe, grinding it into the salted concrete until it was an unrecognizable mess. Tidbits of grey ash scattered into the snowy evening, reminding him of the funeral seven years ago. He couldn't even cry anymore. His tears had long dried up. Nothing moved him anymore. Not since the news of Gray's death in his confinement reached him. He couldn't laugh. He couldn't fake a smile.

All he could do...was think about the past, about how Gray had smiled, about how Gray had laughed, and _about how he could have stopped him from running._

"Aren't I pathetic, Gray?" he asked, looking up at the greyscale sky and the white snow. If the sky was Gray, he was the snow. Lost, wanting to return to the sky. His breath came out in puffs. He couldn't feel the cold.

Footsteps coming up the staircase alerted him to the arrival of another person. He ignored them.

"Are you smoking again? Even though you're a _doctor_ now, Lyon," Sherry's teasing voice reached him from the top of the stairs.

He didn't respond, gaze following the trails of the million snowflakes.

"Lyon, don't be like this. I don't like it when you're like this," Sherry sighed sadly, walking over to the young doctor and slowly wrapping her arms around him from the back. She leaned into his lean, muscled body, pressing her cheek against the soft fabric of the white doctor's coat. It was cold up on the rooftop, but she knew this was where Lyon would be during his break times. He was probably...it hurt for her to think about it, but it was true - the only thing that was ever on Lyon's mind was...Gray, wasn't it? Even though she was always so close to him, from the start. He had never looked at her the way she wanted him to, not before, and especially not after Gray's death.

Why did things have to end up like this?

Lyon remained stationary, letting her rest against him, without acknowledging her at all. She couldn't decide which was worse - his impassiveness or his coldness. She didn't want things to turn out like this. None of them did. Gray was gone. Lyon wouldn't smile. Everyone moving on without ever truly moving on. She could feel familiar tears cloud her eyes, and she sniffed, trying to hold them back. There was only one thing she could do now...right?

"Lyon," she said, stepping back. She gazed at his back, his forlorn demeanor tearing up her guilty resolve. She had hidden this from him for seven, long years. She couldn't do it anymore. Not when she realized that Lyon was only moving farther and farther away from her. Right now, she couldn't even tell if he was really looking at her, or whether he was looking _through_ her, always searching for something else. Searching for that someone who was already gone.

It was time, wasn't it? "Lyon," she tried again, and this time, he glanced at her, empty brown eyes inquisitive. His empty expression ate away at her heart. She couldn't stand seeing it anymore. All she wanted...was just to see him _smile_.

Sherry reached into her pink coat's pocket, taking out a folded piece of paper. "I'm sorry for hiding this for so long," she whispered, her wide, cerulean eyes staring up at Lyon's stoic face with tears welling up in the corners. "I couldn't give it to you earlier, because I was afraid that you'd snap. But oh, I didn't read it. I promise," she said firmly, looking at Lyon in the eyes.

Lyon turned around fully, his gaze scrolling from Sherry's honest, pleading face to the paper in her slender hand. He stared, unable to react.

"I know you'll be really mad, but...read this, okay? I'll go back down. Just - " she stopped, eyes brimming with tears, "don't do anything rash. Promise me, Lyon, that you won't do anything rash. Okay?"

"Sherry - "

"_Promise me_. Even if you hate me forever. Just _promise _me that you won't."

Lyon nodded stonily, and Sherry handed him the paper. He took it, his trembling fingers almost dropping it in the process. As promised, Sherry turned hesitantly and headed back to the staircase, her footsteps echoing down the steps.

Left alone, Lyon unfolded the paper, his hands shaking so much he was afraid he was going to accidentally lose it to the scaly wind. His frozen body was suddenly coming alive, his blood moving faster than he'd ever remembered, and his heart - it was beating, pulsing, racking so hard against his ribcage he thought he was going to have a heart-attack. It couldn't be...but he hoped it could. He hoped against hope that...he'd finally be able to find closure. Because the wound that Gray punctured in his death was far too large, far too painful, and far too much for him to do it alone.

He opened the letter, his brown eyes wide, face shocked, body trembling, and shaking all over.

And suddenly, those tears and sobs were coming out so easily, so quickly, it was like a dam broke, and all of these years of being unable to smile, laugh, or cry were just figments of his imagination. Because right now, his tears could have drowned the precious letter in his shivering hands.

**June 21st, 2007**

_Hey, squinty bastard. Yeah, you._

_Hope you know who I am. Who else calls you squinty bastard, anyway? Just in case your stupid brain couldn't figure it out; I'm sexy Gray Fullbuster. Call me at 1-800-hotline-ice-ice-baby._

_I'm holed up in this single bedroom with a nice bathroom kind of thing. It's not too bad. I get a tv, books, internet, my own bathroom, and awesome room service. Just that they pass my food through the filter under the door. Which kinda sucks. But uh aside from that, nothing much. I get to go to the gym time to time and meet some other folks with the same problems. We get along real well. Like a brother from another mother kind of thing._

_Anyway, just popping by. Hope you don't miss my hot face too much. I'll be writing you from time to time. Might have to stop that once, you know, it gets hard. Doc says my nervous system is speeding toward destruction. Whatever that means._

_Hey, but, before I go, I'll just let you know something. Don't be an idiot forever. I wanted to run, and it's not your place to stop me. So don't be an idiot forever. I wrote that twice._

_And something else, before I go. I was going to let you know in person...sometime ago. But that's not gonna happen anytime soon. And you can't reject me from where you're at. So._

_I like you. A lot. And not in a friendly way. I love you. A lot. More than a lover's way. It might be cliche to say this, but, if you were born a girl, we could have married, happily ever after kind of deal. Except, I would have croaked about a third of the marriage in. Or, okay, if I were born a girl. Nvm. You can't reject me. I'm too sexy. If that was awkward, I'm just jk. If that wasn't awkward - look, that wet spot isn't me crying. It's from the coke. Accidentally got some on it. But anyway._

_If that really wasn't awkward, it might really be cliche to say this, but..._

_let's meet next life time._

_And hope we get a Good Ending. Instead of this messed up Bad Ending._

_Well, that's it. I'm done being emo. I'll write more and shit. So don't cry too much, Lyon. You're not exactly cool when you do. Bye._

_P.S: if we don't get a next life, then I'll just wait up here. so if you get lonely, look up, and I'll be looking down. don't come up too fast, though, cause I really don't want to see your squinty face so fast. Bye._

Lyon clutched the paper to his chest as he slid down, leaning against the railing and sitting on the cold concrete. It hadn't stopped snowing at all. His entire body was shaking. Choked sobs. Warm tears streaming down his face. His nose running. He didn't know whether he was laughing or crying. Or both. All he knew was that...

When he got lonely, he'd look up.

When it was time for him to go, he'd know who would be waiting up there.

And if he reincarnated, he'd make sure he got a Good Ending with Gray.

And that...

"Gray, I love you. You stubborn, stripper, bastard."

Even though he didn't look cool when he cried.

Next life time, was it?

He could hardly wait.

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><p><strong>Rori's Corner: <strong>How to feel? I thought it was a happy conclusion. Or not. Ahaha...ha. You can kill me or love me. Let me know. c; Just to clear things up, Gray had stage 4 tuberculosis and spinocerebellar ataxia. Stage 4 is really contagious. If you have it, you have to be solitarily confined so as not to contaminate others. Spino is what the girl in One Litre of Tears has. Basically, your nerves stop working while your mind is unaffected. You eventually die from it. I combined the two diseases and put them in Gray. I'm horrible.


End file.
